


Work to Do

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2016 [127]
Category: Supernatural, The West Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8879413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Crossover: The West Wing/Supernatural, Leo McGarry(he lived), any, Leo is one of the Men of Letters."Sam and Dean unlock The Bunker and run into the man who served as White House Chief of Staff while Sam served as Deputy Communications Director or Sam Winchester instead of Sam Seaborn.





	

"Shall we do it?" Sam held up the box their grandfather had given his life to protect.  
  
Dean nodded, opened the box and lifted out the key. "Let's do it." He reached out and unlocked the door.  
  
At first the hallway was pretty nondescript, the kind of cement corridor that led to a cement bunker that was the stuff of cold-war paranoia. But then the corridor opened onto a balcony that overlooked a circular atrium, and it was like they'd stepped back in time. The wrought-iron banister, the geometric tiled floor, the heavy wood furniture and green Tiffany desk lamps. It was beautiful. It was the nicest place they'd ever contemplated staying in.  
  
Dean started for the stairs, and then a man said,  
  
"Well, I'll be. If it isn't Sam Winchester. I wondered about you, you know, after you left us. You went from being Deputy White House Communications Director to criminal to presumed dead, and your crimes...well. Grave desecration, that's a common hunter tactic, isn't it? And yet here you are, with the key to the Men of Letters. Winchester isn't too uncommon a name, but I always thought there was something of Henry in you, especially in your precise attention to detail."  
  
Dean had his gun drawn and aimed on the old man who stood in the doorway below them. He'd come out of seemingly nowhere.  
  
Sam had also drawn his gun, but he lowered it as soon as he saw who it was. Dean had no clue who the old codger was, but Sam obviously recognized him.  
  
"I thought all the Men of Letters were dead," Sam said.  
  
"So did I," the old man said wryly. "If you have the key, you must be legacies. I guess that's one mystery solved, though. What happened to the other key, and what happened to young Henry all those years ago."  
  
"Who the hell are you?" Dean demanded.  
  
"Dean, this is Leo McGarry. Leo was chief of staff when I worked for President Bartlett," Sam said. He holstered his gun and started forward, but Dean caught his shoulder.  
  
"How do you know we can trust him?"  
  
"I worked with him for a few years," Sam said. "He had his issues, but none of them were of the demon-summoning variety."  
  
"That you know of," Leo said, and Dean trained his gun on the man once more. Of course, he was a full-fledged Man of Letters. Was a gun even effective against him?  
  
"Come on down, boys," Leo said. "Let's talk about what it really means, to be a Man of Letters."  
  
Sam shook off Dean's hand and descended the stairs. Dean had no choice to follow. He was always unsettled whenever Sam's years without him reared their ugly heads. In those first twenty-four hours topside after Castiel dragged Dean out of hell, Dean remembered little. He remembered Castiel zapping them into a swanky office, and seeing Sam wearing slacks and a button-down shirt and tie and some girl calling him "Sir". He remembered Sam attacking him, holding a silver knife to his throat. He remembered other people whispering that they'd thought Sam's brother was dead. He remembered Sam walking away and talking to someone named Josh, turning in his official resignation on the spot, and Josh looking betrayed, puzzled, panicked. He remembered a pretty blonde woman, Donna, asking if they were like Sam and Dean, from the books, because Bobby was with them, and Bobby looked just like she'd always imagined. Dean had ignored her, gone to hustle Sam along, because they had work to do.   
  
Sam's break was over. They had to hunt things, save people. The family business. Dean hadn't asked what Sam had done after he'd died, knowing that Sam had kept his promise not to make a deal to bring him back but still bitter after centuries of torture down in hell. But Dean couldn't avoid the oblique references Jo and Ellen made, about seeing Sam on TV, how they'd thought he was out of the life for good, how Jo would finish college but she'd come help them if they needed it (and Sam murmuring, no, finish college, we got this).  
  
It wasn't until the FBI came roaring after them in the form of Leviathans that Dean really started to understand what the hell Sam had gotten up to while Dean was gone. He'd finished college, gone to law school, and ended up working for the President of the United States as some kind of fancy speech writer.

It was all over the news, former beloved golden boy of the Bartlett administration turned wild criminal. Dean's petty criminal past was much discussed, and everyone seemed to universally agree that Dean had ruined Sam's life.  
  
Whenever the news stations trotted out clips of Sam, young and well-dressed, standing behind the president while he gave a speech, Sam would turn off the television or change the channel. Dean had gone to Frank to dig up everything he could about Sam's years without him, and Frank had delivered, on a little thumb drive that Dean never dared to plug into his computer and look through.  
  
Maybe he should have done it, because Sam was easing himself down beside this strange old man and sharing a cup of coffee with him, catching up on old times.  
  
"I didn't think much of it, when Donna started reading that pulp series 'Supernatural'," Leo said, "but then one day she showed up at the office with a necklace that was an anti-possession charm, and I got curious. Awfully-written stuff, by the way."  
  
Sam ducked his head, blushed. "Not like I wrote it, you know. I didn't want everyone to know about my life like that."  
  
Leo patted Sam's hand. "I know. You're a much better writer than that. You still write, these days?"  
  
Sam shook his head. "No."  
  
"How is it that no one recognizes you anymore?"  
  
"Psychology gets me pretty far," Sam admitted. "Not to mention I've been presumed dead again. Grew my hair out, did my best to look like a cop in a suit instead of a politico."  
  
"I remember when you first joined the campaign." Leo smiled and shook his head. "Your wild hair. Abbey despaired of you."  
  
"It was CJ who bullied me into actually using product in my hair."  
  
"And she was right to do it. Every female intern we had - and about half of the male ones, I think - was in love with you."  
  
Sam blushed and ducked his head. "Whatever. The girls loved Josh, actually. He made a pretty good Chief of Staff, I thought."  
  
"That he did."  
  
"Everyone thinks you're dead, you know."  
  
"There's a spell for just about anything. So talk to me about how you came into possession of that key," Leo said. "I have a vague idea, but after Abbadon attacked, I never heard about Henry again, and I looked. Hard."  
  
Dean said, "He jumped forward in time. Was looking for our dad. Found us. We iced Abbadon. He gave us the key. We got the coordinates to this place. End of story."  
  
Sam jumped, like he'd forgotten Dean was there.  
  
Leo nodded calmly. "And what's your plan now?"  
  
"To close the gates of hell," Dean said. "And we don't need your help. We've made it this far on our own."  
  
"I remember you," Leo said. "From the books, and from the day you and that Angel showed up in the White House and basically kidnapped our Deputy Communications Director. I get it. You don't like me here. You don't like any reminder that Sam ever had and ever could have a life without you. You probably thought your Grandpa Campbell was pretty amazing, for all the tricks he knew, but he didn't even scratch the surface. If you don't want my help, fine. But it's here if you need it." He stood up, wincing and clutching his back. "It's good to see you, Sam. My room's just down this hall."  
  
As soon as he was out of earshot, Dean grabbed Sam's arm. "Let's get out of here, go find Kevin. This stall's occupied."  
  
Sam yanked his arm free. "Are you insane? This is - Henry died to protect this, to give it to us. We'd be crazy not to use it."  
  
Dean shook his head. "We've always been fine on our own."  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. "It's not like I'm going to run off to law school again and get a white collar job when your back is turned, okay? That part of my life is over now, and I can never go back. I didn't even try to go back to it when I was with Amelia, all right? Stop acting like a jealous girlfriend and let's get some work done."  
  
Dean searched Sam's gaze for even a hint of doubt, but Sam looked as determined as ever. He shoved Sam's shoulder. "I'm not acting like a jealous girlfriend. Let's get our stuff moved in, and we can ask the old guy for the nickel tour."  
  
Sam nodded. "Okay. Let's do it. Like you said, we've got work to do."


End file.
